


I Want To Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart

by immawriteyouthings



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Excessive use of music, Fluff, Flustered Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immawriteyouthings/pseuds/immawriteyouthings
Summary: Hanzo knew he was an anachronism. His name alone was archaic, his tattoo a literal mark of a more traditional time.Though it pained him at times, he felt a strange kinship with Jesse McCree. They shared an apparent mutual disregard for modernity, both in mentality and, oftentimes, dress.He knew that was why he allowed it in the first place. He should have been less receptive. More cautious. Who even called anyone on the phone anymore?Jesse McCree, apparently.





	I Want To Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Welp.
> 
> New fandom, same ol' problems.
> 
> Forgot I wrote this. Forgot I kinda liked it.
> 
> It was intended to be a much longer piece, but again, I forgot. Still intend it to be a longer, fluffier piece.
> 
> It was originally inspired by thetiniestcicada's "Awkward Hanzo" comics on tumblr, beta'd by corpsesucc (who I'm pretty sure had another username when they were helping me? Maybe? Man I'm bad at followthrough). Thanks to all regardless!
> 
> I've been a McHanzo fool for too long not to post something, guldangit.

Finding a quiet moment in Watchpoint: Gibraltar was rare. One would think the small population and large square footage would make such a thing easy, but no. No matter where he went, there were… _people_. Groups of them, milling about, talking and planning and bickering and laughing. Usually, quiet was only achieved through careful isolation – in his room, on the roof, among the cliffs, and on one embarrassing occasion, ducking into a supply closet – but today, surprisingly, it took no effort whatsoever.

Hanzo found the rec room abandoned for once and rather than relying on his instincts (suspicion and careful evasion), claimed an overstuffed armchair in the far corner to read. Perhaps his mere presence would discourage company (he was by no means popular among his colleagues). He finished two chapters of his novel before Genji joined him, silently folding himself onto the floor to meditate. It was still a shock, how effortlessly Genji chose to join him, his lack of hesitation. How calm and relaxed he was around his would-be murderer. Like a wounded sparrow landing on a hungry cat's paw. He'd treasure this trust, even if it meant sacrificing his solitude. Not long after, the frog-themed DJ, Lúcio, and the spritely-mecha-gamer, Hana, filtered in and rather than exploding into their usual flurry of sound and youth (and forcing Hanzo to acknowledge his age and his capacity for people), commandeered a section of the room to quietly tap at their electronics, only occasionally babbling about this and that.

It was...  _pleasant,_ this muted company. None demanded anything of him and his usual impulse to flee was lulled into a cautious sleep. But as the poem goes, _nothing gold can stay._

When the song started, Hanzo assumed it was coming from Lúcio’s equipment scattered across the room. The twang of the music was unexpected but so was the musician himself. Hanzo’s initial impression of the youth shattered the day Lúcio offhandedly mentioned a violent protest in South America, as though _explosives_ and _lost limbs_ were just part of every other Tuesday. The yodeling, however, was an… interesting choice.

 

_**[I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FrAYwYscqXJQ&t=ZjQ5NzliZjEwZDE4NjgwYmE0NTRmZDgyZTUwMTQ2MjE5NmYyMDgwMSxmNGQ5ZmMzMGVkOTY4YWM1ZTFiYzNkNmZhYzA2MWFiNTdjNTIyOTlh) ** _

_**I want to learn how to rope and to ride.** _

 

“Oh! I know this song!” Lúcio perked up and Hanzo was instantly reminded of an animal tuning in to an inhumanely high pitched sound.

 

_**I want to ride o'er the plains and the desert** _

_**Out west of the great divide.** _

 

 "You know this?" Hana asked, face crushed with disgust, "You know  _country?"_

“Don’t knock an entire genre! That’s like saying ‘all animated movies are for kids.’” 

 

_**I want to hear the coyotes howlin'** _

_**While the sun sinks in the West.**_

 

Hanzo had never heard Hana’s voice go so low and menacing, even in combat, “ _That’s a lie and you know it_.”

“Well, yeah, that’s why I said it.”

 

**_I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart_ **

**_That's the life that I love best._ **

 

“God, I know, it’s just reflex.” She shuddered from head to toe and took her head in her hands. “Anyone who thinks that just makes me want to scream.”

The song continued behind their chatter, saccharine and bouncy, and it was beginning to grate on Hanzo’s nerves.

“Would you mind turning down your music?” He interrupted and they both turned to look at him.

“What? Dude, I’m not playing anything.”

“But–”

“Yeah, no,” Lúcio denied and put his index finger to his nose. Hana followed suit. “Not it.”

It took Hanzo half a moment to understand the gesture, swiftly after Genji did the same and he was faced with three people inexplicably touching their own noses (though, to be fair, Genji was just touching his faceplate in a vaguely nose-centric location).

“Brother, I believe that it’s coming from your phone,” Genji said in a mock whisper.

And yes, if he listened carefully, the song did seem to be coming from his back pocket. He pulled out his phone – Overwatch issue with a standard chime he _knew_ he’d never bothered to change – and the song was suddenly much louder, clearer, though still distorted with age. When he looked down, the screen read, “McCree” followed by an assortment of heart emojis and a smiley with a cowboy hat he knew he hadn’t (and would’ve _never_ ) entered.

“You should probably answer,” Genji added with a smile. No, a grin. A grin of the 'shit-eating’ variety. Oh, you couldn’t actually see his face from behind his stoic metal mask, but Hanzo knew. He simply _knew._

Glaring daggers at his childish brother, Hanzo pressed accept and brought the phone to his ear. “Speak.”

 _“Heya, archer. I stopped at the store. We need anything?”_ The gunslinger spoke casually, his voice touched with the unmistakable echo and distant chatter of a large grocery store.

“Need?”

 _“Chips, TP, whiskey? Got a-hankerin' for Milk Duds?”_ McCree leaned into his accent, letting his words come out in a far more exaggerated drawl. This was something he did, Hanzo noticed, on two distinct occasions: while playing dumb around enemies (a clever tactic when seeking out information) or when he was trying to be ‘funny.’ He wasn’t particularly funny, but Hanzo couldn’t help his huff of amusement.

“No, I don't 'hanker’ for anything, thank you.”

_“That right? Not even a bit of beef jerky?”_

“No.”

_“I’m gettin’ Funyuns.”_

“Disgusting.”

_“I’ll have you know they are God’s bizarre little corn blessings.”_

“If anything, they're a blight on this Earth.”

_“Aw, you’re no fun.”_

“I simply have a preference for things intended for human consumption.”

McCree laughed, the warm sound pouring into Hanzo’s stomach like liquor. “ _What else am I supposed to do with 'em? Wear 'em like rings? Though to be honest, I’m pretty sure I’ve done that.”_

“Of course you have,” Hanzo replied, the image of the cowboy bedecked with corn chips tugging at his carefully cultivated control.

“ _What’s_ that _supposed to mean?”_

“Nothing.”

“ _You judgin’ my accessories? Because this buckle’s art.”_

“I didn't say anything.”

“ _Uh-huh. Sure. And you wear a three-foot, shimmery gold ribbon like it ain’t nothing’.”_

“This phone is for emergencies.”

 _“Alright, I get it, I get it,”_ he trailed off but didn’t hang up. Hanzo heard rustling and pictured McCree readjusting the phone, pressed between his face and his wide shoulders, the screen brushing against his cheek, his unruly beard. And then his ears filled with McCree’s steady breathing, which quickly became McCree’s deep humming. It was… nice. Calming. Hanzo caught himself closing his eyes to listen and jolted alert – when had he agreed to join the cowboy on his shopping trip?

“McCree, I do not have time for–"

” _I’m getting you Skittles.“_

"I don't need Skittles.”

_“Don’t you lie to me. Even you can enjoy a skittle.”_

And his control slipped again. “…Fine.”

 _“Aha! Knew you had a sweet tooth._ _Alright, see you in a bit. Bye.”_

“Goodbye.”

Hanzo hung up, picked up his book and steadfastly ignored the fact that he was now the center of attention in an uncomfortably tense, silent room. His face began to heat and he fought it, channeling his energy into calm, measured breathing.

“What. Was. _That?_!” Hana demanded, eyes wide, “Why wasn’t I recording?!”

Lúcio dissolved into laughter, occasionally shouting, _'What?!“_

Genji was quiet, but damn it if he wasn’t _grinning_ again. Hanzo felt his resolve break, snapped the book shut and ran.

"This is the best thing to happen,” Hana sighed, “ _Ever_.”


End file.
